Above her, the lizard's golden eyes glowed faintly. Not outwardly—but deeper. Focused. "…Hiding," he said simply. "…Talisman."
The fox went still for a fraction of a second. "…I can't sense anything. So it's not low-grade." Her eyes sharpened. "…High-tier earth grade at least."
Her tail slowed, thinking. "…Then it's either careful…" A beat. "…or dangerous." She exhaled softly. "…What does it look like?"
The lizard didn't answer immediately. The air shifted subtly, like something stepping out of place. Then it appeared. Not all at once—but gradually. A distortion. A ripple.
Form.
White fur. Tall. Standing upright. Muscle coiled beneath its frame. Its posture—neither fully beast nor human, somewhere in between.
Its eyes opened. **Blood red.** Sharp. Aware. Locked immediately onto the corpse.
"…Ah." The fox's voice slipped through quietly. "…Never mind." A faint smirk. "…It decided to introduce itself."
The creature stepped forward. Slow. Controlled. Its gaze swept the area briefly, suspicious, then settled again.
"…Not human," the fox murmured. A pause. "…But not stupid either."
The white monkey bent slightly, reaching toward the corpse. Its movements deliberate, careful. Like it expected something to happen. Like it knew—it wasn't alone.
The creature stepped into full view. White fur caught the dim light of the Broken Ridge. Red eyes gleamed. Still. Watching.
"…Crimson Eye Ape."
"…Red-eyes chimpanzee."
Silence.
The fox froze—not completely, but enough. Her ears twitched once.
"…What did you just say?" Her voice dropped, not sharp—confused. "…What did you call it?"
Above her, the lizard didn't hesitate. "…Red-eyes chimpanzee."
Another pause. Longer this time.
The fox's expression shifted. Brows narrowed. Eyes tightened. "…No." Flat. Immediate. "…No, it's not."
Her head tilted slightly, trying to process what she had just heard. "…Who told you that?" She stepped forward, still invisible, still hidden. "…Where did you even get that from?"
Her tail flicked once. Twice. "…Who told you that nonsense?"
No answer. Her eyes narrowed further. "…Don't tell me…" A pause. "…you made that up."
Silence. The lizard didn't respond. Didn't react. That was enough.
The fox exhaled slowly. Long. Controlled. "…You've seen something like it before." A beat. "…And that's what you decided to call it."
Her expression flattened. "…That's what we're doing now?" Another glance at the creature, then back—though he couldn't see it. "…You couldn't come up with something better than that?" Her voice dropped slightly. "…Seriously?"
A brief pause. "…Don't say that again." Firm. "…It's embarrassing." Her tail swayed once. "…Especially for someone working with me."
She straightened slightly. "…So listen carefully." Her tone shifted. Teaching. Precise. "…It's called a *Crimson Blood-Eye Ape.*" A small pause. "…Or just *Crimson Eye Ape*."
Her gaze returned to the creature. Sharp. "…Names matter. They carry meaning. Information." She gestured faintly with her paw. "…Crimson—bloodline. Eye—primary ability focus. Ape—body type, behavior pattern."
Her eyes narrowed. "…Everything tells you something." A beat. "…If you've encountered one before…" Her voice slowed slightly. "…then you already know what it does."
Silence. "…Eye contact." A faint tension entered her tone. "…That's the trigger." Her tail stilled. "…It stops you. Locks you in place. Paralysis. Not physical—but enforced."
Her ears tilted back slightly. "…And now that I think about it…" A longer pause. "…I've seen you do something similar." The words settled. "…Before." Her eyes flicked upward slightly. "…I didn't question it then. But now…" Silence. "…You consumed one, didn't you?"
No accusation. Just conclusion.
Ahead, the **Crimson Eye Ape** shifted slightly. Its red gaze swept the area once more, searching, waiting. And still—it hadn't found them.
The fox's tail swayed slowly. Her ears flicked once as her eyes tracked the **Crimson Eye Ape**. "…Huh," she murmured through the mental link. A faint smile tugged at her lips—curious, amused. "I like this one. It's a beast with the same… *sickness*."
A pause. "You know," she continued, "…offering gifts after a kill. Leaving something behind. That… instinct, that habit—it's rare."
The lizard shifted slightly atop her head, golden eyes fixed on the ape.
"But…" she added, lowering her voice slightly, thoughtful. "This one's different." Her tail flicked again, slower this time. "Careful. Calculating. Each step measured." Her eyes narrowed faintly, a hint of excitement glimmering. "Thinks ahead. Plans for contingencies. Knows what's coming—or at least guesses it."
She tilted her head, almost contemplative. "That… makes it interesting."
The lizard remained silent, but his body tensed slightly, sensing the same subtle tension radiating from the ape.
The fox exhaled softly, almost amused. "…A cautious one. Not reckless. Not impulsive." Her gaze lingered on the red-eyed figure. "And that," she said quietly, "…makes it *worthy* of attention."
A beat of silence stretched between them, the Broken Ridge holding its breath. "…Let's see how it plays its hand," the fox whispered, voice barely more than a thought.
Above her, the lizard's wings flexed lightly, poised for whatever came next.
The lizard's golden eyes shifted slightly, and a quiet thought drifted into the fox's mind.
*"…Isn't it the same as you?"*
The fox froze mid-step, tail flicking sharply.
"What the hell?" she hissed, ears flattening slightly.
"*The same* as me?"
Her voice sharpened, trembling with irritation.
"That's an insult!" she spat, mental tone slicing through the air like a whip.
"Do **not** compare me to that stupid ape!"
Her ears twitched furiously as she paced a single step, invisible in the forest shadows.
"I'm—" A pause. Her voice boiled with disdain. "…I'm **a hundred times** better than that thing. No… **a million times** better!"
Her tail lashed behind her as she continued, voice rising, the mental link crackling softly in the lizard's mind.
"The difference between us? **Heaven and earth!** There's no comparison! No way!"